


Capitulant

by GloriaMundi



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Napoleonic Wars, C19, Community: au_bingo, Gen, Historical
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-28
Updated: 2011-02-28
Packaged: 2017-10-16 00:23:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/166461
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GloriaMundi/pseuds/GloriaMundi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The chase is over, and Eames claims his prize.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Capitulant

The chase had been long and arduous, complicated by fiendishly bad weather sweeping down from the Arctic. The _Morpheus_ had pursued the American privateer on her north-westerly course for the last five days. Ice crusted the stays, and the sheets were as stiff as though they'd been starched.

That last salvo from _Morpheus_ 's carronades, though, had carried away the privateer's mizzen, and now she was wallowing in the great slow swells of the northern ocean, close enough for Eames to make out her name -- _Eidolon_ \-- with the naked eye.

"They're surrendering, sir!" cried Lieutenant Nash, as the privateer's colours came down. She was a sorry sight: her captain had piled on every stitch of canvas in his efforts to escape the _Morpheus_ , and much of it had been shredded by cold winds and hot iron. She was listing to starboard, perhaps as a result of the single broadside Eames'd managed while the two ships were still in sight of the Irish coast. Foul black smoke billowed from her deck: if Eames was any judge, the crew had burnt every surplus scrap of wood and canvas in the hope, not only of staying warm, but of lightening the ship, giving her a greater chance of outrunning the _Morpheus_.

To no avail. "Bid the captain come aboard," he ordered Nash, and watched as the command was relayed to the American ship.

Eames would readily admit to considerable curiosity concerning the privateer's captain: the _Eidolon_ had successfully evaded the _Morpheus_ for weeks, running the British blockade to flit between French ports. Then, once the _Morpheus_ had given chase, the _Eidolon_ \-- a mere sloop, but a cunningly-rigged one -- had outrun her for more than a day, and kept the distance between them for several more. Her captain must be a formidable seaman.

"Here is Captain Arthur, sir," said Nash. Eames turned to greet his enemy, and was hard-pressed not to gape; for the captain of the _Eidolon_ was a mere youth, thin and filthy and yet somehow managing a haughty elegance.

"I am Captain Eames, sir," he told the American. "Do you surrender in accordance with the rules of war?"

"I do," said Captain Arthur, all clipped consonants and nasal vowels like any Yankee Jack. Despite the shadows beneath his eyes that spoke of sleepless nights, and the smoke and soot that blotched his face, he was really extraordinarily fine-looking. "My sword, sir." He handed it, hilt-first, to Eames.

"I accept your surrender, and that of your crew, on behalf of His Majesty's Navy," said Eames, weighing the sword -- a cavalry sabre, of all things, with a razor-edge to it -- in his hand. "How many men d'you have? Do any need a doctor? We have a fellow, below, who ..." He waved his hand vaguely.

"Twenty-two men," said Captain Arthur, "and thank you for the offer, but we have our own physician."

"I am happy to hear it," said Eames. "Nash, send over some victuals to the prize, won't you? And a carpenter -- am I right?" he added, to Captain Arthur. "To my eye, you've taken a great deal of damage, and if you haven't the timber --"

"Your generosity, sir, is overwhelming," said Captain Arthur, and Eames was almost certain he caught a note of disdain.

"Having surrendered, you may as well reap the benefits," said Eames, with a shrug. The American, he noted, was shivering, and when the _Morpheus_ rolled with an especially vigorous swell, he swayed and almost fell. He wondered how long it had been since Captain Arthur had permitted himself to eat, or sleep, or take any care for himself. "I beg you will join me below," Eames went on smoothly, "for a glass of wine and perhaps a bite to keep us going 'til dinner."

"I'm hardly fit to be your guest," snapped Captain Arthur, gesturing down at himself: layers of ragged damp clothing stained with soot and blood, a pea-coat that'd seen better years, his boots white with salt and split ankle to knee. Eames was struck by a sudden sharp desire to strip the man out of his ruined apparel, bathe him thoroughly in warm scented water, and --

He cleared his throat. "Mr Cobb will conduct you to a cabin where you can refresh yourself," he said, nodding at the Third Lieutenant. "After which I pray you will join me, and perhaps we can become a little better acquainted."

Captain Arthur hesitated, but his slow smile -- he had the most ludicrously missish dimples, and Eames had been at sea for _months_ \-- and his eventual acquiescence were all the sweeter for the delay.

"Mr Nash," said Eames in an undertone as Cobb led Arthur below, "see to it that I am not disturbed, will you? I intend to extract every detail of the Yankee situation from our guest, and it would be discourteous not to make him ... welcome."

-end-

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, the summary makes it sound much smuttier than it is :)


End file.
